


Through Time to Me

by Lilachigh



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-09
Updated: 2013-10-14
Packaged: 2017-12-28 22:00:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/997434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilachigh/pseuds/Lilachigh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Buffy is in complete denial about her relationship with Spike but a call from a Watcher who needs her help alters all that in an alarming way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Mere Child

Through Time to Me  
By Lilachigh

Chapter One: A Mere Child

 

The Watcher smashed his fist down on the table, sending ink splashing from the inkwell to spatter over the parchments laid out in front of him. “How could this happen?” he roared at the Council member standing in front of him. “She is a mere child! No more than what, ten years? How can she be the new Slayer?”

Young Lord Travers fingered the elaborate gold embroidery on the sleeve of his plum coloured velvet jacket. He fastidiously flicked away a piece of fluff – or worse – that had settled there. Really, this man should be able to keep his rooms cleaner than this. He wasn’t poor. He made a good living and was paid a small but regular income from the Council. He sighed. “Nothing will be gained by losing your temper. We have no control over who is Chosen, as you know very well. It is just unfortunate that your last Slayer – ”

“Helena!” His voice was suddenly hoarse with pain. She’d been his Slayer for two years and he still blamed himself for her death. She hadn’t even been slain by a vampire, but had caught a chill because he’d insisted she waited out on the marshes south of the river at Vauxhall to catch a covey of demons. The chill had turned to a bloody cough and then she was gone. He hadn’t expected to be given another Slayer. There were plenty of Watchers in the Council; one of them would surely get the next girl to train. He hadn’t believed it when Lord Travers arrived with the bewildered child in tow.

She was downstairs now, being given food by his cook. Her name was Maria; a thin, grubby urchin with big eyes and a ravenous appetite. God knows how the Council had found her, but there she was, the new Slayer. All she knew was that suddenly she'd become stronger than the other street beggars she ran with, that something had attacked her in a dark runnel and she’d turned with a piece of wood in her hand and – well, that wouldn’t the last time she did that!

Lord Travers moved restlessly towards the door as all over London, bells began to chime the hour. “I have an appointment at Westminster. Do your best. Don’t forget – there’s every chance that this All Hallow’s Eve will bring us to the very edge of chaos. She must be ready.”

The Watcher waited in silence until the tall, elegantly dressed courtier had left. Ready by October 31st! He’d be lucky to have her ready in a year’s time, let alone one day! 

He was so busy, working every hour the good Lord sent him. And now this. He stood up and crossed to the window, gazing down on the busy, bustling city street. It wasn’t hard for him to imagine the demons and vampires that fed off the humanity who crowded into London every day. London, where footpads and cutpurses were the least of your worries when you walked alone after dark.

And one small Slayer was going to make a difference? All Hallow’s Eve was usually vampire free, but there had been portents and warnings galore this year. Any Watcher worth his salt would have realised that the vampires and demons were not going to stay quiet: they were set to make an all out attack with just one end in mind, bringing the country to its knees. He hesitated for a long minute. What he was planning to do – if it went wrong - he knew everyone would blame him for all eternity. It was the blackest, the darkest of magics. But what choice did he have? They needed help. He had less than a day to turn his little Slayer into a killing machine and that wasn’t long enough. Come October 31st, she would need the help of another Slayer.

He pushed the heaps of paper aside and, from a secret cupboard under his desk, he pulled out a dark red velvet bag. Nestled inside was a black glass sphere. He’d inherited it, along with its powers, from his grandfather, who‘d been a Watcher fifty years ago deep in the Warwickshire countryside. He’d never dreamed the day would come when he’d have to use it. Nervously, he crossed the room and knelt in front of the fireplace. He placed the sphere in the hot ashes, then returned to his desk, took a twist of paper from the same cupboard and sprinkled the contents across the globe’s pitted surface where it glittered, red and green and gold. Now all that was left to do – he took a deep breath, pulled out the small dagger he wore on his belt and slowly and deliberately made two crossing cuts on his palm.

Refusing to wince or show any pain, he held his hand over the sphere and watched as the blood dripped onto the powder and hissed into the glowing cinders. Taking a deep breath, he said the words in the ancient lost language he’d learnt by heart many years ago. Translated, it was one of the worst rhymes he’d ever known, but then he was a purist when it came to poetry.

“I call for help from a Slayer,  
One who is yet to be.  
Leave your home and life behind  
And come through time to me.”

* * * *

 

Buffy pulled on her boots and zipped up her skirt. She couldn’t find her thong – again. What did Spike do with them? She had visions of a drawer somewhere in his crypt with half her underwear inside it. He might remember that they cost money, money she didn’t have. She hadn’t meant to stay, hadn’t meant to have sex with him tonight. Oh yeah, a voice mocked inside her head. That’s why you wore a skirt instead of jeans and no bra, is it?

He hadn’t spoken for some time now. He’d dressed before her tonight and was sitting on top of a stone coffin, moodily smoking a cigarette. Buffy headed for the crypt door, then hesitated, turned and went back to him. OK, he was a vampire, so hey, no injured feelings to worry about, but she still didn’t like to leave when he was looking miserable. Which was ridiculous.

She reached out her hand and he took it, linking his fingers tightly with hers. He looked up, his eyes serious, the mocking expression long gone. “What is this thing we have, Slayer?” he asked quietly.

“Thing? We don’t have a ‘thing’, Spike. We just have – this!”

He tossed his cigarette aside and took her other hand. “Stop avoiding the question, pet? I love you, you know that. Just tell me what you feel for me. That’s all I want to know.”

Buffy bit her lip. Since she’d come back from – what had she called it – heaven – she felt as though she was walking through life encased in glass, feeling nothing, touching nothing. The only time she felt real was when – she pulled her thoughts away from that. She didn’t want to analyse why she only felt alive when she was with the vampire. “I’ve got to get home. There isn’t time for this, Spike. Why can’t we just go on as we are?”

“Time, pet? Well, I’ve got all the time in the world. How much time do you need?”

Buffy gazed into his eyes; they were so darkly blue in the gloom of the crypt, she felt she was falling into them…then, to her horror, she realised she was falling…falling…. whirling round and round her hand still clasping Spike’s.... and…

* * * *

“Bloody Hell!” Spike rolled across the floor and was on his feet in seconds, vamping out, fists clenched, looking for trouble. Buffy shook her head to rid it of the ringing noise and reached for the stake in her belt.

She focused on a man standing in front of a small latticed window. She could hardly see him; the room was dark, wooden beams crossed the ceiling and a smoking fire was adding to the general gloom.

“Where the hell are we, Slayer? What just happened?”

The man by the window spoke and for five long seconds Buffy could hardly understand a word he was saying. She knew it was English, but it sounded weird. Then a click in her head and she realised he was staring at Spike and shouting, “Vampire! Kill it, Slayer. Kill it!”

“What? Listen, whoever you are. That’s Spike. He’s harmless.” She ignored the angry swearing from her lover and went on, “OK, yes, he’s a vampire, but he won’t hurt you.”

The man walked forward and Buffy gasped. He was about thirty, as tall as Spike, wearing a doublet and hose; black velvet with a white lawn shirt underneath. He was quite good-looking with piercing dark eyes, a small neat beard and thick dark curly hair. Without taking his gaze from Spike, he held out his hand and pulled Buffy to her feet. “Slayer?”

Buffy nodded. “Buffy Summers. Look, where the hell are we? What just happened?”

“More like when are we, pet,” Spike said, walking to the window and gazing out. 

The man gazed at Buffy with an expression that was half wonder, half horror. “I am a Watcher,” he said slowly. “I called for a Slayer.”

“A Watcher?” Buffy’s head ached. “Oh - Kay, but what d’you mean, you called for a Slayer? Don’t you have one? You must do. When one dies, another one is Chosen, yada, yada, yada.”

“Yada?”

“Oh, don‘t worry about it. Look, do you have a name? And I know all you Watchers think a little slowly, but hey, I’ll repeat myself, ‘What the hell just happened’?”

“My name is Will. I am deeply sorry to have called you forth, but my last Slayer died only four days ago!”

“I’m so sorry,” Buffy whispered, a little shudder running across her body. The death of every Slayer hurt her.

“Helena.” The man paused, shutting his eyes in pain for a second, then went on. “The new Slayer is very, very young. I have no idea why she was Chosen, but here she is, a mere child. It will take me weeks to turn her into a fighter and the world does not have weeks to wait.”

“Don’t tell me, big apocalypse, snakes, demons, stone monsters about to suck us all into Hell. Got the T-shirt. Buy one get one free. I’ve done them all. ”

The Watcher shook his head. “It isn’t an apocalypse, Miss Summers, but still a threat to the very heart of our world. I had to have a Slayer to use, but not a child who does not even know how to make her own stakes. But can you tell me, pray, why do you travel with a vampire?”

“That’s Spike. He’s – well – he’s useful but harmless to humans.”

“Hey, still evil here,” Spike growled from where he was staring down into the street below, obviously fascinated. 

Buffy ignored him. “The government put a – ” she hesitated: how on earth did she describe Spike’s chip to this man. “A device to stop him hurting people is inside his head,” she finished lamely. 

The Watcher drew a sharp breath. “Witchcraft!”

“No way, mate,” Spike broke in. “Just good old army know how.”

“The army? Ah. Interesting.”

“Now, how about some more information from your side. Where are we, when are we and what the heck is that dreadful smell!”

“We are in London, of course. It is the year of Our Lord, 1594, and I can smell nothing strange or dreadful.”

“Fifteen – ” Buffy tried to talk and couldn’t make the words come out.

“You can smell the privy – and the sewage in the streets. Unwashed bodies, rotting garbage, the smoke from a thousand chimneys. Tudor London, pet. I don’t quite believe it, but we’ve come back in time a very long way.”

Buffy crossed the room and stood at Spike’s side, gazing out through the small, thick glass windows to the bustling, noisy, narrow street below. The houses opposite were lime-washed with black timber beams, the upper storey jutting out further than the lower. This house was obviously constructed in the same way; you could look straight down onto the heads of the people below.

Suddenly the full impact of what had just happened to them flooded over her. They’d travelled back in time, to another country! And she didn’t even own a passport and Dawn would be sitting up, waiting for her to come home from patrol and – oh god, they were in 1594! She didn’t know any history before the French Revolution!

“I must go back.” she said. “Send us home – now!”

The Watcher looked at her gravely, his dark eyes solemn but very male, taking in every detail of her body under her thin T shirt and cotton skirt. “I understand that this must be – ”

“I have responsibilities,” Buffy said angrily. “You can’t just pick people up and move them from one time to another without a word of warning.”

“If what I have read is correct, time is not passing where you were,” the Watcher said calmly. “Of course, I cannot keep you here against your will. I will give you a few minutes to consider. Perhaps some ale will refresh you.”

He left the room and Buffy listened to his footsteps on the stairs. She turned to Spike. “Jeez!”

He grinned at her, mischievously. “Bloody hell, Slayer. Most guys get a cuddle and a ciggie after sex. I get time travel and Tudor England. Can’t be bad.”

“Spike, I know this is fantastic, all sorts of weird, but hey, we have to go back. How the heck can we help here? We’d look like aliens if we set foot outside the door. Probably end up being thrown into prison.”

Spike’s eyes gleamed. “Thrown into the Tower, pet.”

Buffy coughed as the smoke eddying out from the fireplace fought with the richer smells that were catching in the back of her throat. “Do you think he can get us home?” she asked suddenly, a chill of worry worming its way up her spine.

Spike shrugged. “Reckon if he got us here, he can send us back. But, hell, Slayer, don’t you want to at least have a look at London. This is bloody fantastic – we’d be fools to go back before – ”

“OK, you stay, then!” Buffy snapped. “I’ve got Dawn to think about.”

“But the Watcher bloke has already said time isn’t moving in Sunnydale. We’re still standing in my crypt – come on, Buffy. What’s your real reason?” He looked sharply into her face. This was so unlike the girl he knew and loved. He knew she didn’t have a cowardly bone in her body, but at the moment she was acting like a nervous schoolgirl. And as much as the idea of her in black stockings and a tunic made him as randy as hell, he still wanted the grown up version to shag. Although he reckoned he might file that image away in his brain for a later date when they were alone in the dead of night once more.

She bit her lip, then threw back her head and stared at him defiantly. “OK, say we stay. What if – what if I die here, Spike?”

“Never going to happen, pet!”

She shrugged. “Got to happen some time, somewhere. Could be here. Bad enough to die at home. But to just disappear. For you to tell Dawn, hey your sister’s dead again but this time for good because she was called back through time. I couldn’t do that to her. She’s only just recovering from the last few months.”

Spike started to speak and then, for once, had the grace to keep quiet. He knew there was nothing he could say to that. It would kill Dawn. If Buffy went away again, he didn’t even want to imagine how the teenager would deal.

“You speak of a sister.” The Watcher was standing in the doorway, a large pewter jug in one hand. “Slayers do not usually have families.”

“In our time they do,” Buffy said, deciding that this wasn’t quite the right moment to explain about Dawn, green energy, Glory and closing demon dimensions by dying.

“What year have you come from? 1685, 1710 perhaps?”

“Try 2001,” Buffy said.

The colour drained from Will’s face. “2001!” he whispered. “That is…I cannot… ” The Watcher sighed, his shoulder slumping with worry. “I should like nothing more than to learn about your time,“ he said wearily. “But - ” he stood aside to let a small girl enter the room. She was carrying two tankards and nervously cross the room to place them on the table.

Buffy stared at her. She was pitifully thin, wearing a filthy dress with an even dirtier pinafore over it. What Buffy could see of her hair was pulled back and hidden under a cotton cap. But although she looked scared and jumpy, her eyes were bright and intelligent.

“This is Maria,” the Watcher said softly. “Maria is my Slayer.”

Spike poured some ale from the jug into one of the tankards and swallowed it in two gulps. “Bloody hell, Will. You can’t send that up against any self-respecting vamp or demon. She wouldn’t last two minutes.”

“Exactly. You can see why I called for help. Maria, this is Miss Summers. She, too, is a Slayer. The same as you.”

The child bobbed a little curtsey, then reached out a curious finger to touch the stake that Buffy had stuck back into her waistband. “ Nice,” she said in a husky voice, the Cockney accent so thick that Buffy could hardly understand her. “Could do with one of those.”

Buffy handed her the stake, smiling as she fingered the point and then tucked it away in her apron pocket. “‘E’s a vampire,” she said suddenly, turning and gazing at Spike. “‘E makes my skin itch.” 

Buffy tried not to laugh as she heard Spike growl. “He makes me itch, too,” she said, and realised she was going red when she heard him splutter halfway through another mouthful of beer. She stared down into the child’s bright hazel eyes. Oh God, there was no way, no way at all that she could leave Maria to fight vampires and demons before she knew how. She would have to stay.

To be continued


	2. By Royal Appointment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Buffy and Spike learn that Tudor England is a dangerous place.

Through Time to Me by Lilachigh

 

Chapter 2: By Royal Appointment

“OK, Will, tell us why you need me here in England now,” Buffy said. She’d sipped some of the beer and almost spat it out, it was so revolting. She couldn’t imagine why Spike was enjoying it so much.

“Tomorrow is the Eve of All Hallows. The one night of the year when the dead rise up in search of a new body to inhabit.”

“You won’t get much vampire action then,” Spike put in. “We tend to take the night off. Everywhere’s so crowded with ghosts and ghouls.”

The Watcher bent his head in agreement, but stiffly, as if it hurt him to agree with one of the hated tribe. “That is so. But this year, the Council has information, portents, knowledge, of an attack that will be made - ” He took a deep breath. “The attack will be against her most gracious Majesty, Our Queen Elizabeth, God Bless her.”

Buffy frowned. “But surely, that’s not something a Slayer can help you with. That’s well, politics. And hey, American here. We don’t get involved in all that royalty sort of thing. You must have soldiers, spies, policemen.”

“Not for a couple of hundred years, pet,” Spike put in dryly. “But I must admit, Will, can’t see why you had to call Buffy back to look after Good Queen Bess.”

The Watcher strode round the room, running ink-stained fingers through his dark hair. “Because although the attack is being organised by humans, we believe they are gathering an army of vampires to do the blood letting. We would all willingly lay down our lives for our Queen, but we know we are no match for vampires.” He shuddered. “That is not the worst of the information. It is whispered that they are trying to turn our Queen. To make her a vampire!”

“Wow. In fact, double wow,” Buffy said.

Little Maria, the very young newly called Slayer, had found a small three-legged stool and was sitting in the deep fireplace, warming her hands at the still smouldering embers. “I don’t know as how I can protect the Queen. I don’t understand what I am. But I’ll do my best even though I do reckon I’m going to hell.”

The Watcher smiled at her. “Don’t fret your mind, Maria. You’re certainly not going to Hell. You have been Chosen, you are the Slayer. I have explained all this, but will do so again very soon. At present, just sit quiet and listen, like a good little maid.”

“So Buffy is to protect the Queen. How? I mean, from all I’ve read, you can’t just hang around the Court next to royalty without someone objecting, usually with big pointy swords and axes.”

The Watcher nodded. “In normal circumstances, yes, that is true. But on All Hallow’s Eve this year, the Queen has instructed a group of players to perform a masque for her and the Court. I am one of those players. I intend to take Miss Summers with me as part of the group. Then she will be able to be at Greenwich Palace without questions being asked and so guard the Queen’s presence.“

“You’re an actor?” Buffy asked, fascinated.

The young Watcher laughed and ran his fingers through his hair. “I act with some friends, but not well. I lack practice. Last year the plague ravaged through London and the theatres were shut, but this year we are clear of the pestilence and so the Queen has asked for this revel to be performed. ”

Buffy stared at him, her head a whirl of conflicting thoughts. Spike was grinning at her. “We’re going to meet Queen Elizabeth the First, pet! Makes the trip worthwhile.”

“Elizabeth the First?” the Watcher frowned. 

Buffy opened her mouth to tell him there was now another Elizabeth on the English throne then realised Spike was shaking his head behind him. “I reckon the least we say about our world and time, the better,” she said firmly. “OK, Will. I’ll do what I can to protect your Queen. But Spike comes with me.”

The Watcher’s lips thinned. “I can not allow a vampire to enter the Queen’s presence,” he snapped. “Even if he is ‘safe’ as you say.”

Buffy shook her head. “Sorry, this isn’t negotiable. Spike’s the best fighter I’ve ever met. He‘s faster than me and sometimes stronger. There is no way I go into this without him.”

The Watcher stared into her face, horrific understanding dawning slowly. “You are in love with a vampire!”

“What? No. What rubbish. Of course I’m not in love with Spike.”

Will cast a doubtful glance in Spike’s direction, taking in the expression of pain on the vampire’s face. “The lady doth protest too much,” he said quietly and wondered why the brilliant blue eyes blinked at him in a sort of dawning astonishment. It was quite obvious to him who was in love with whom.

“So, when do we go to court?” Buffy asked, determined not to get involved in a conversation with yet another English Watcher about her love life, especially a young, quite handsome man. 

Will sighed. “First of all, I must find you some clothes to wear, Miss Summers. That outlandish apparel will not do. ”

Buffy nodded. “If I’d known before I left home, I’d have worn my jeans,” she sighed. “What do you want me to wear? Not one of those dresses with a big skirty thingy. I can’t fight in one of those.”

The Watcher looked surprised. “No, you can not go to Court with the players as a girl, Miss Summers. Women are not allowed to act. That would be most lewd and unseemly. You must go dressed as a boy.”

* * * * * * * * *

“You know, Slayer, you make a lovely boy!” Spike was sitting on the side of a high, four-poster bed, grinning at Buffy.

Tight dark green stockings covered her legs, her velvet breeches were red and the doubtlet that came down over her backside was a dark green slashed to show a brighter green lining. A floppy red velvet cap was pulled down over her forehead, hiding her hair. The Watcher had even found her a pair of shoes with buckles.

“Spike, if you tell anyone – ” She glared at him and pulled off the cap. “I can’t believe any of this is happening. I think we’ve fallen asleep and this all a dream. Like Bobby in the shower in Dallas.”

“I liked Dallas,” Spike said wistfully. “I always wondered if JR was a vampire.”

Buffy sat on the bare wooden floor, pulled off the breeches and tried peeling off the stockings. The wool was itchy on her skin. “How come you don’t have to dress up in Tudor clothes, anyway?” she grumbled.

“I told Will exactly what he could do when he suggested it,” Spike said. “He’s given me a cloak, I’ll leave my duster here and wear the cloak over the T-shirt and jeans. Will says he’ll tell everyone I’m from abroad if they question him. Well, he’ll be right, won’t he?”

He shifted uneasily on the hard bed as Buffy finally pulled off the hose and revealed the plain linen drawers that the Watcher had produced for her to wear underneath. “Fancy coming to bed, pet?” he murmured suggestively. “I could scratch the bits that itch!”

Buffy glared at him, schooling her face to stay expressionless, hating the pull of desire that coursed through her. “Spike, I wouldn’t get into that bed if you paid me. Look at the dust and dirt on the drapes hanging round it. It’s probably crawling with bugs.”

“Fleas,” Spike said absently. “People in Tudor times had bites most of the time. It was the fleas off the rats that brought the plague, too. It’s still a comfortable bed, Slayer.” His voice was silver with persuasion.

She shuddered and curled up in a wide, wooden chair that at least looked reasonably clean. “That child, Maria,” she said wearily. “How long do you reckon she’ll last as a Slayer?”

Spike swung off the bed and threw himself down on the floor, resting his head against her knees. “Well, let’s put it this way, luv; I don’t reckon she’ll see another Christmas.”

“Why choose someone about ten years old? I was fifteen and even that seemed far too young at the time. If it hadn’t been for Giles…”

“She’s got her own Watcher to look out for her.”

“Will? He’s already lost one. His Helena. I get the feeling life is cheap to him. And he seems far more interested in his acting than being a Watcher.”

“Buffy – ” Spike hesitated, wondering if he should tell her what he suspected about the Watcher. But it was so weird, so fantastic, that he couldn’t bring himself to say the words.

“Do you reckon we’ll actually get to see the Queen?” Buffy’s hand had dropped absentmindedly to his head and he smiled as he felt her fingers twisting the flattened hair into tiny curls.

“Probably.”

“How old will she be?”

Spike frowned; trying to recall lessons learned a long, long time – well, in the future! “About fifty, I suppose. That’s a good age for a woman in these days. We were always taught that she had red hair. Be fun to check.”

Buffy gave a little laugh. “Hey, can I get one of those little signs to put on the front door – you know, “By Royal Appointment”?

“Royal Slayer?” Spike stroked the bare leg that rubbed against his ear. “Reckon that’s young Maria’s destiny. If she lives.”

Buffy gazed at the two candles that were guttering in the draught coming through the tiny leaded paned windows. “Will said one thing that worried me. The vamps we can deal with, but he reckons they’re being controlled by humans. I can’t kill a person, Spike. Nor can you.”

The vampire grunted. “You never know, pet. Maybe the chip doesn’t work in this age. I mean, I haven’t even been born yet, nor have my great grandparents, so perhaps I haven’t got a chip.”

Buffy groaned. “Stop! My brain hurts. I so wish Willow was here. She’d know what we can and can’t do.”

Spike reached up, caught her arm and pulled her effortlessly down to lie across his lap. He ran his hand up inside the leg of the linen drawers and heard her gasp as his fingers touched her. 

“Well, I’m glad she’s not, pet, because otherwise I couldn’t do – this!” And he blew out the candles as he ripped the rough knickers off her body.

Outside their door, Will stood, one hand raised to knock. But the sounds that he could hear made him hesitate, a little smile crossing his face. So this Slayer was not in love with her vampire? From what he could hear, the moans and groans, the carnal whimperings, that was hard to believe. He tried to think of any relationship that was more doomed than this one and couldn’t. He sighed, and went back downstairs whispering to himself, “the course of true love never did run smooth.”

 

To be continued


	3. All the World's a Stage

Title: Through Time to Me

 

Chp 3 All the World’s a Stage

 

The next day was wet and overcast. Spike, naked to the waist, peered out of the tiny-paned bedroom window and grinned at the gloomy weather. "England, pet," he announced with more than a hint of pleasure in his voice. "Lovely wet, windy Autumn day. And no sun, so it’s gloomy. God, I’d forgotten that I could walk in the streets on a winter’s day here. And today’s going to be just as dark by this afternoon."

Buffy was trying to untangle her hair with her fingers. She picked up the remains of her linen drawers and gazed at them ruefully. He’d done it again! Another set of underwear ruined, even if they were Tudor ones. And there was no way she could ask Will for a second pair. 

She pulled on the green stockings and breeches, wincing a little when they rubbed at sore places on parts of her anatomy that had been under constant siege all night. God, had they slept at all? She could remember dozing off once after a particularly vigorous bout, only to be wakened by a cold insistent tongue doing things that even now made her tremble and long and –

This was insanity. Even here, back in time, about to try and save a Queen’s life, the only real feelings she had were for Spike. And yes it was lust, for the sex and for his body, but it was also something more. She looked at him now, peering out of the window like some excited schoolboy, giving her a running commentary about what was going on in the street, so pleased that it was wet and dull and he could go outside.

She – she liked him! Trusted him? Jeez, no way. But of all the people she’d ever known, she enjoyed being in his company. It was as if together they made a circle and without the other they were incomplete. Buffy shook her head and fastened the doublet. All this thinking was giving her a headache. She had to concentrate on the job in hand, then find a way of getting home, back to Dawn and her dreary life in Sunnydale.

Dreary! She stopped in the middle of buckling her shoes. Was her life really so dreary since Willow had brought her back? Only when you’re not with Spike, came a whisper in her head and that frightened her in a way no vampire could ever do.

Downstairs she found Maria in the big kitchen, stirring what smelt like porridge in a pot over an open fire. Buffy shook her head when the child offered her some. It smelt of burnt milk. "No, thank you!"

"There’s bread and honey."

"No, I’m good. How are you this morning?"

The little girl removed the pot from the flames and set it on the flag stones to the side of the fire. "Not sure, Miss. Mr Will has told me again about his being my Watcher and me being a Slayer and I think I understand. I killed something in the alleyway the other day. It just turned into dust. And I’m stronger than I used to be."

Buffy smiled. She could remember when she‘d first been called – the amazing realisation that she could pick up heavy weights that most men couldn’t shift. "You’ll get used to it, Maria. You’ll learn how to hide your ability from other people. But remember it’s your mission to kill vampires and demons. Never be ashamed to do your job."

"Have you been a Slayer for long in your world?" the little girl asked shyly, wiping her nose with the back of her hand.

"A few years," Buffy said.

"And what about the vampire you travel with. Have you had him for long?"

"Had him?" Buffy said, startled. "Oh you mean, how long have I known him? Not as long, but it seems like forever."

"I feel I ought to try and kill him, but Mr Will says he can’t hurt humans any more."

Buffy’s lips twitched at the thought of this child trying to stake Spike. But then she frowned. It wasn’t funny. Maria would be trying to stake vampires that were almost as dangerous as Spike. How long did Spike think she would last? Until Christmas? Buffy couldn’t see her still being alive in two weeks time.

"I am to come with you today to Greenwich," Maria said, brightening. "Just fancy, I am going to see the Queen herself, God save Her!"

Buffy smiled. "And until we leave, I’ll show you one or two things you’ll need to know. Now, take that stake out of your belt and try to plunge it into my heart."

Spike strolled into the Watcher’s room having left Buffy and Maria training in the garden. He would have liked to have helped, but knew the little girl was worried by his presence. And bloody hell, her life was going to be difficult enough without him making more complications for her.

Will was sitting at his desk, his quill pen scratching over the paper. Spike stood and watched him, a joyful surge of feeling inside him. He’d had many good days in his life, but this one was one of the best. "Busy?" he said at last and watched as Will raised his head and stared at him, his expression bemused as if the familiar appearance of   
his own home was the last place he’d expected to find himself.

"What, vampire? Yes, indeed. But it is nothing of any great importance. A mere nonsense that I need to improve. The words will come to me one day soon, but not today."

Spike had had many over-powering feelings of want in all the years since he’d been turned, but none was stronger than wanting to walk across and read what the Watcher had just written. "So, actor and writer," he said.

Will leant back in his chair, easing the strain on his shoulders where he’d sat cramped over his work since the small hours of the morning. "Oh I’m an actor first and foremost, vampire. I act for sheer enjoyment. I write for money."

"But people like what you write?"

Will grimaced and pushed the pile of paper into an untidy heap. "Sometimes they do. Do they have actors and plays in your time?"

Spike nodded.

The Watcher shrugged. "I doubt I would understand a lot of what is performed in your theatres."

"Oh, I don’t know." Spike grinned mischievously. "You might."

"You have – feelings for your Slayer?" The sudden change of subject caught Spike off guard for a second. Then he laughed, a touch bitterly. "That obvious, eh? Yeah, love’s bitch, me. Fought it, tooth and nail, but it’s no use. I love her and always will."

The Watcher picked up his quill pen again and sharpened the point with a small knife. "And she returns these feelings?"

Spike shook his head, his face bleak. "Oh, she feels – something. God knows what. She can’t – or won’t say. But she won’t trust her feelings. She’ll only trust her eyes and her eyes say ‘soulless vampire’."

“Love looks not with the eyes but with the mind," Will said absentmindedly and jotted the words down. "I have a notion to write a play about star-crossed lovers. It would be very tragic but I think the audiences would like it."

Spike nodded gravely. "I’m sure they would," he said. "Perhaps you could set it in, say, Italy. Give it a real romantic flavour."

Will nodded, absentmindedly, then remembered whom he was talking to and stood up, his face suddenly bleak. "Your Slayer - tonight will be dangerous. If the Queen is turned, England will fall to the powers of darkness."

Buffy heard what he said as she came into the room. "But Will, we know I must have succeeded because – "

The Watcher’s hand cut the air in front of them. "No! I do not want to know. But remember, the future is as it is now. If you fail tonight, then perhaps it will be very different in hundreds of years. The powers of darkness may well rule the land. Now, I must go and prepare. We travel to Greenwich within the hour."

When he’d left the room, Spike wandered over to the table and stared down at the papers. He picked up the quill pen and scratched   
a few words – 

"What the heck are you doing?"

"Soddin’ hell, Slayer! Don’t make me jump." He dropped the quill, sending ink spattering across the tabletop.

Buffy tugged down the dark green doublet over her hips and checked that she had more than one stake tucked into her belt. "I wish I knew exactly what we were going to find when we get to the palace," she said. "All Will says is trust your instincts as a Slayer."

"Sounds like good advice, pet."

Buffy pulled a face and squashed her hair under the floppy velvet hat she’d been given. "Don’t call me pet! All he says is typical Watcher speak. I’ve been hearing that from Giles since forever. Trust your instincts, concentrate on being a Slayer. Cope with whatever’s thrown at you. If Giles had had the nerve, he’d have told me to Listen to the Force! All I know for sure is that I have to save Queen Elizabeth from being turned into a vampire tonight. I don’t know who her enemies are and apart from you, my only back up is a little   
girl Slayer who so far has killed one vamp, and that was by accident. At a time like this, I’d even welcome having Xander along!"

"But you‘re enjoying yourself," Spike said softly and as she turned startled green eyes in his direction, he knew he’d hit on a truth she couldn’t deny.

An hour later, Buffy and Spike were sitting in a boat, being rowed down the Thames towards Greenwich Palace. There was a thick, low, clinging mist on the river and as water dripped off the oars, she could hear disembodied voices calling out from other ferry boats and the orange and yellow lights from lanterns and flares as the busy river traffic criss-crossed the fast running waterway.

Buffy coughed as the boat shot under a bridge and the thickening mist caught in her throat. Spike’s arm curled around her shoulders and she allowed him to hold her for a few seconds, the velvet of his borrowed cloak warm against her cold cheeks. 

Maria was perched on a seat in the prow, her face glowing in the light from the lantern that was needed on this dark, gloomy afternoon. Will and another young man who’d jumped on board at the last second, were sitting, heads together, talking quietly but feverishly. The man’s clothes looked expensive; thick damask, heavily embroidered. Buffy was sure he was a Council member; she reckoned she could sense them, like vamps. And whatever he was saying, Will didn’t look too pleased about it, she thought.

He turned eventually and said, "Events are moving faster than I’d thought possible. Lord Travers here has informed me that the people behind the plot are already at Greenwich, attending on Her Majesty. And so their vampire minions must be there as well. I had hoped for a chance to patrol the grounds, but now you will have to head   
straight for the royal apartments. And let us hope we are in time."

"Travers?" Buffy asked, her eyes gleaming.

Will looked puzzled at her question. "Lord Travers is Head of the Council."

"Right. Of course. Color me not surprised. A sort of family tradition, I suppose!"

"Indeed so. Now, Miss Buffy, the two people we suspect are a Sir Toby Fletcher and a woman – Cressida de Mornay. Sir Toby is a fool and a rogue, but a stupid one. He is led by the nose by his lover. She is very young, seventeen is all, but a fascinating woman. She could bewitch the very coins out of your pockets."

"I thought for one dreadful moment you were going to say her name was Glory," Buffy said. Bewitching human women were something she could deal with. At least there were no hell gods in this equation.

Will turned back to Lord Travers and they spoke again in fierce undertones. Buffy stared at the other man. He had to be Quentin Travers’ ancestor. That was so weird but kind of cool. She had an overpowering desire to ask if there was a Mr Giles in the Council as well.

An hour later the boat glided alongside the landing-stage. Soldiers and footmen, pages and boatmen milled around in the mist, shouting instructions as the other members of Will’s group of actors clambered out of the boats that were arriving just behind them.

"Here, lad. Carry this, you lazy lout!" Someone threw a heavy box at Buffy who caught it effortlessly and glared at Spike, who growled and started forward as if to pick a fight.

"At least I obviously pass as a boy," she hissed.

"Must be blind, all of them," the vampire retorted, staring at the shape of her legs in the dark green stockings. "No bloke I’ve ever known had legs or an arse like yours, Slayer." And he grinned as the colour flooded up into her face.

In the confusion, the Watcher pulled Buffy and Spike to one side. "Follow me closely. I will take you directly to the Queen’s apartments. There is a secret staircase that leads to a passageway in the wall itself. You will find a door there into Her Majesty’s withdrawing-room. I cannot go with you. I must stay with the actors and prepare the masque in the Ballroom. My absence would be noted."

"Does the Queen know about the plot?" Spike asked, pulling his dark blue cloak tighter around him. "If she sees Buffy in her room, isn’t she going to yell first and ask questions afterwards?"

"She has been informed of the treason, but requires it to come to fruition before we arrest Sir Toby and Cressida. I think Her Majesty wishes to see a vampire! We have warned her of the danger, but she is one of the bravest women I have ever known. She has the heart of a man, of a lion. That is why we are so afraid of her being turned. All that power becoming a vampire. It would be disastrous."

Buffy tried hard not to show how irritating she found this. If their Queen was in such danger, why the heck hadn’t the Council spirited her away somewhere safe? 

Spike looked grim as he followed behind Buffy and Will. This whole situation smacked of confusion, muddle and trouble and the Slayer was slap bang in the middle of it. A touch on his sleeve sent him spinning round, vamping into game face, then shimmering back as he realised it was Maria. He could see the fear flashing into his eyes, but she stood her ground, her hand flying to the stake in her belt.

"Listen, vampire," she said, staring up at him, hostility written in every muscle. "I don’t trust you, but I trust that Lord Travers even less. He hates me, I can feel it inside."

"And?"

"I heard him talking with Master Will on the boat. He says that the spell that brought you to our time will run out by dawn tomorrow morning. Master Will wanted to tell you, but Lord Travers would not give him leave to do so."

"By dawn tomorrow?" Spike ran his hand through his platinum hair, ruffling it into a myriad of little curls.

"Yes, vampire. Will you tell the Slayer?"

Spike nodded and she melted away into the shadows as he turned to catch up with Buffy and the Watcher. He was tempted to grab Will and shake the truth out of him, but knew he wouldn’t. And even if he told Buffy, he knew it wouldn’t stop her doing her duty as she saw it. The mission always came first, even in another time and place.

So, they had only a few hours to save the Queen and get back to their own world. Grimly, he strode on.

To be continued  
 


	4. In Forty Minutes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Queen of Sunnydale meets the Queen of England!

Chapter Four: In Forty Minutes

Along a narrow passageway, hung with heavy tapestries, Will strode with Buffy at his heels. She didn’t have to turn to sense Spike at her back: she knew he’d never let anyone or any thing get close to her.

Suddenly the Watcher stopped, pulled aside one of the tapestries and gestured to a small door set in the wall. “Here are stairs that lead to another door. That is an entrance into the Queen’s bedroom. It will be empty as Her Majesty is receiving guests. But we are sure that is where the attack will take place later tonight. They dare not let loose the vampires in a crowded area. Too much could go wrong. That is where you must fight. Now I must leave you. Go with God.”

Buffy and Spike bent double, eased their way through the low doorway and felt their way up a tiny spiral staircase. In the pitch dark the walls were so close they rubbed hard against their bodies and Spike had to turn sideways on the tight bends to get round.

At the top of the stairs, Buffy found a flat wooden panel. She ran her hands over it then, “There’s no handle,” she hissed back at Spike.

“Let me try,” and he reached around her. Even in the dark she could see the flash of his smile as his body squashed hers against the cold stone wall. Then his hands were pushing and the whole panel slid silently to one side. Buffy stepped through and realised she was in a space where a heavy curtain hung against the wall. 

Spike stepped through at her side. There was a little more light here. She reached up to find the opening in the curtain when suddenly she heard a voice, muffled by the drapes, but still clear enough to hear.

“Whoever is there, show yourself!”

Buffy pushed into the room and paused. A woman, only a little taller than herself was standing by the side of a vast four-poster bed. She had a long, thin face with brilliant dark eyes, a rusty red braid touched with grey hung down over her shoulder. She was wearing a white robe, heavily embroidered with gold and silver thread, with ermine at the neck and edges of the long sleeves.

Buffy realised Spike was bowing and she bent her own head a little. 

The dark eyes twinkled and a long white hand, the fingers laden with rings that sparkled in the candle-light reached out towards the slight boyish figure standing in front of her.

“For all the doublet and hose, you are not a boy, Miss. And you do not bow before me. You come up the secret staircase that is known to so few. You are what Lord Travers calls a Slayer, I believe.”

“Yes, your Majesty,” Buffy said quietly.

“And this – young man – this is —?” The eyes sparkled with interest as she got her first good look at Spike’s face.

“Spike, your Majesty, at your service,” he said.

“Spike? An unusual name for an Englishman. And I can tell that you are English. You, on the other hand, Miss, are not.”

“I’m American.”

“Ah – from one of our colonies.”

“Not so much. It’s a place called Sunnydale, in California,” Buffy said, wondering how much more weird this evening was going to be. “It’s on the west coast of America.”

“The west coast! So, we have explored that far, have we? I have been informed that you are from a time I cannot even begin to imagine.”

Buffy glanced swiftly round the room. There was no one hiding anywhere that she could see; everything seemed secure. But why was the Queen here alone? Will had said she would be downstairs, receiving homage from her guests before watching his play. “Your Majesty, we believe you’re in great danger. We want you to be in company, amongst a crowd. You’re vulnerable on your own.”

Queen Elizabeth made a gesture of disdain. “I was late rising. I have sent my ladies away for half an hour. They were clucking around like headless chickens. The play will not start without me.” A grim smile crossed her face and Buffy winced at the blackened teeth that showed under the painted lips. “Nothing starts without me. Just as everywhere I go, everything is new and untouched. Sometimes I would wish for rooms that are shabby and lived in, where dust has been allowed to settle.”

Spike grinned to himself, wondering what she would say to hear that her namesake, hundreds of years in the future, had once remarked that everywhere she ever visited smelt of fresh paint and bleach.

“But enough of that - I long to see a vampire. I have heard of them for so many years but never seen one.”

Buffy waved a hand at Spike. “Well, there’s one here, right now. He can’t hurt you. But whoever is conspiring against you tonight will be sending some who can. You must take care.”

The Queen stared at Spike, then reached up and ran a long white finger down his cheek. “So,” she whispered. “You are my first vampire, Master Spike. Your hair is a strange, magical colour. You must tell me how it comes to be that particular shade.”

Spike looked bemused, then grinned and bowed his head. “Delighted, your Majesty,” he said. “But right now, your safety has to come first.”

Buffy crossed to the door. She just had a bad feeling about this whole set-up. Admittedly, she knew nothing about how English royalty was treated in Tudor times, but she was quite sure the Queen of England would have had guards and courtiers in attendance the whole time. She opened the door into another big chamber. Candles flickered and a fire smouldered in a vast hearth. A window was open and the mist spiralled in from outside, making the air chill. Lying sprawled on the floor were the bodies of four guards, their swords undrawn. Pewter goblets lay by their outflung hands, dregs of wine in the bottom of each.

Buffy slammed the door shut. “Your guards have been taken down,” she snapped.

“Dead?” 

“By their faces, I suspect they’ve been poisoned. And there’s no sign of your ladies.”

“Interesting.” Seemingly unmoved, Elizabeth Tudor raised her thin, painted eyebrows and sat down on the side of the bed. “I spy Cressida Fletcher’s handiwork here. She is my senior lady tonight. If she told the others to go down and watch the play, they would do as she said, believing the message had been sent by me.”

Buffy hauled a heavy carved chest in front of the door. “Then I reckon the attack could happen at any moment,” she said. “Spike?”

“Room’s clear, pet.”

“Then we wait.”

Buffy drew the stake from her belt. “Your Majesty, if you could stay on the bed, out of the way.”

The Queen‘s lips twitched; she obviously found taking orders extremely amusing. “I have my own weapon,” she said and withdrew a slender-bladed dagger from under her pillows. The handle was encrusted with rubies and emeralds and glittered in the candlelight. “Master Vampire, will you sit with me and tell me of life in your times while we wait?” She patted the bed and Spike cast Buffy a frantic glance as he gingerly sat down next to her.

Buffy would have laughed if she dared. The expression on her lover’s face as the older woman stroked his hand was worth a fortune. Suddenly she stiffened. There was a sound from the secret staircase they’d climbed from the passage below. She caught Spike’s gaze and he gave a brief nod before swinging off the bed, cloak flying. 

Elizabeth opened her mouth to speak, then suffered the indignity of having Spike’s hand clamped across it. He jerked his head towards the tapestry and the dark eyes in the pale lined face widened with understanding.

Just then, the curtain that hung across the sliding doorway billowed out and a rush of vampires roared into the room in full game face. Buffy was alarmed at how many there were. The room seemed full of screaming demons, desperate to reach the Queen. And as fast as she managed to dispatch one, another came hurtling up the secret stairway to join in the fight.

“Spike! Watch out!” she yelled as the vampire was born to the floor by three vamps. She spun and kicked out, her stake flashing down, once! Twice! And two more disappeared in puffs of smoke and dust.

She turned to see Spike being hurled across the room onto the great bed, getting himself tangled in the velvet curtains. With a roar, the vamps flung themselves after him, their hands stretching, clutching, reaching for Elizabeth who coolly pulled out a jewelled cross from under her robe and held it in front of her as she stabbed out with the dagger.  
Buffy took a flying leap across the room, grabbed the biggest vamp around his neck and wrestled him to the floor. She was vaguely aware of Spike freeing himself, and pulling the other two vamps off the bed. But he lost his footing for a vital second and one tore out of his hands.

As Buffy stake her vamp, she whirled to find Spike kneeling on top of another, but the third had the Queen by the throat and was about to bite. Just then, before Buffy could move, a small bundle of fury leapt into the room and with a vicious plunging motion, brought her stake down right though the last vamp’s heart. He dissolved into dust and Maria and the Queen of England lay on the great bed, staring at each other over the floating mist.

“So, they were vampires!“ the Queen breathed out with a wide smile and the little Slayer nodded solemnly.

“Yes, your Majesty,” she said, then rolled over and sat up as shouting and yelling could be heard coming closer and closer.

“Ah!” Elizabeth nimbly climbed down from the high bedstead. “I think my loyal followers are about to discover that my personage has been threatened.” She imperiously held out her hand to Spike who took it and kissed it. “My thanks, Master Vampire, but you should leave now, much as I would like to keep you by my side. I fear for your life if you are caught here.” She turned to Buffy, and smiled at the tousled blonde hair that fell around the Slayer’s face. Her squashy velvet hat had been an early casualty of the fight.

“I will not offer you a reward, my young friend from across the world,” she said gravely. “I sense that you fight for what is right, not for money.”

“The odd piece of gold – always comes in handy –” muttered Spike and tried to look innocent when Buffy glared at him. 

“Maria here is your Slayer, your Majesty,” she said quietly. “She will guard you.”

The Queen nodded. “Now go. Both of you. And quickly.”

Spike bowed again and disappeared behind the curtains. Buffy turned to follow, then hesitated and held out her arms. Maria rushed into them and gave her a tight hug. “Take care,” Buffy whispered. “Watch your back at all times. Do what you think is right, not what the Council want you to do. I’ll never forget you.”

And then she was running, down the spiral staircase, through the little door and down the passageway, Spike at her side. “We’ve got to get back to the Watcher’s house, pet,” he said.

“Why?”

“Maria told me that the charm that brought us here finishes at dawn. If we’re still here then, we stay here!”

“But Will – ”

“Did exactly what he had to do to protect the Queen,” Spike snapped, lengthening his stride. 

“But why didn’t he warn us?”

“He knows Maria isn’t ready. The Council wanted you to stay here and help out. You can’t blame them.”

They’d reached the outer door of the palace and behind them they could hear yelling and shouting. Someone had raised the alarm - the dead guards had been discovered.

“Is there enough time?” Buffy asked as they clattered down flights of steps onto the jetty that ran alongside the palace gardens. “Wait!” She gripped Spike’s arm and they stood, close together in the mist, as two other figures appeared and began to untie one of the boats.

“You clumsy oaf!” the young woman hissed, her blonde hair escaping from under the hood of her cloak. “You’ve ruined everything! I poisoned the guards, got the other ladies-in-waiting away. The Queen was at our mercy. She could have been turned and we could have ruled the world through her! Why didn’t you send in more vampires when you heard a Slayer had been summoned?”

The man was swearing as he fought to lift a heavy rope off the mooring bollard. “How was I to know there would be two Slayers? It’s a nightmare. I should never have got involved with you. You’re a witch, Cressida!”

“And your head will roll on Tower Green, Toby, unless you flee the country. I’m for America – to Virginia. There’s a ship at Plymouth and a captain who will be happy to take me – for the price of my body. One that I shall have to pay, because of you. I hate you, Toby. I shall see that you and your descendants suffer for what you have brought me to!” 

She straightened up and Buffy frowned. The fair hair, the perfect features, reminded her of someone, somewhere….

“Pshaw! I’m not going to travel that far.” Tall and well built, with a broad face and dark hair, Sir Toby grunted and jumped into the boat. “I’ve a house in Ireland. I’ll hide there until all the hue and cry has died down. Perhaps I’ll even live there permanently. I rather fancy founding a family, getting away from all the intrigue of court, getting away from you, Cressida, my dear …”

The young woman skipped into the boat and it moved off, jerkily, into the mist with the couple still arguing.

Buffy turned and stared at Spike - “She looked like – ”

“He looked like – ”

They both stopped, then Spike shrugged and turned to find another boat. Whatever the truth, what would be would be and now they had to get back to London – fast.

Luckily the tide was with them as they rowed down river, back towards the south of the city. The mist was clearing and the dark night was lit by a crescent moon. The river was deserted. Too many people were scared to be out and about on the Eve of All Hallows when spirits roamed the world looking for a human body to inhabit. Most sensible citizens stayed safely indoors with every window tightly shut to keep out the demons, ghosts and vampires.

Buffy sat facing Spike as he cast off the long royal blue cloak and, clad only in his black T shirt and jeans, rowed them upstream. “Do you think Cressida escaped to America?” she asked at last.

Spike smiled, a flash of white in the darkness. “If Cressida is who we think she is, then we know she did.”

“And Sir Toby?”

Spike shrugged then cursed as one oar missed and splashed spray over them both. “Bloody hell! Same thing, Slayer. I’m here, so Dru and Darla were here, so Liam was here, so – ”

Buffy said no more. She was beginning to stare apprehensively at the eastern sky. Was it getting lighter? Did the charm end at actual sunrise itself? “Have you any idea how the spell works?” she asked suddenly.

Spike nodded and grunted as he dug deeply on the oars and the boat fizzed across the water. “Asked Will yesterday. There’s a glass globe. You put it in the fire and he reckons a drop of your blood will be enough to reverse the spell. As long as we’re touching, then I’ll go back with you. Of course – ” the smile came again and Buffy shivered; this time she could see his face as well – “if you want to leave me here, pet, then all you have to do is let go of my hand.”

“We’re cutting it fine,” she said because there, over her right shoulder, the sky was beginning to change from black to dark blue and a faint apricot tinge was trickling along the horizon over the treetops. 

The dark sky had become duck egg blue by the time Slayer and vampire were running up the road and hurtling inside the Watcher’s house. They burst into his study and Buffy grabbed the glass sphere being used as a paperweight, and carried it across to the fireplace. Then stopped dead. There was no fire burning. The ashes were cold.

“Great! Spike – ” she turned in desperation as the first very faint rays of sun began to pierce the window.

Spike grabbed the pile of papers the globe had sat on, screwed them up and set fire to them with his lighter. Buffy snatched the knife Will used to sharpen his quill pens and slashed it across her finger. As the flames licked up around the glass globe, the blood dripped onto it.

Buffy reached out and grasped Spike’s hand as he pulled his duster from the back of a chair. The door to the room was flung open and Will stood there. He shouted, “Wait! Please don’t go. We need you,” but it was too late. Slayer and Vampire vanished into the smoke.

Will slowly crossed the room and stared down into the hearth. He sighed and turned back wearily to his desk. They’d gone and he’d never had a chance to thank them for saving the Queen’s life, to explain that he hadn’t told them about the ending of the spell because his duty to the Council came first and that if they’d stayed, they could have had a good life together here in England.

He winced as he realised which papers they’d used to light the fire. Love’s Labour’s Won he’d called his latest scribble. But perhaps it was all for the best. It hadn’t been as good a play as Love’s Labour’s Lost.

He pulled out the page of manuscript from the play he’d been working on that morning and frowned. His line of dialogue for Puck had been boring. He hadn’t been happy with it. It had read, “I’ll presently fly around the world…”

Now someone had written, “try “I’ll put a girdle round about the earth in forty minutes.”

That was better. That had the sensitive touch of a true poet!

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

 

Note: There are several historical references to Loves Labours Won. I didn’t make it up. It may well have existed and been lost or destroyed.

 

Final chp to come.


	5. Perchance to Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Buffy and Spike think about 'what if....'

Through Time to Me:

Chapter 5 Perchance to Dream

 

It was dark inside The Magic Box. The small light on the table shone down on the pages of the book Buffy was reading. She glanced up occasionally, shuddering as the light gleamed off glasses and jars full of weird and sometimes revolting - things. Anya and Xander had taken Dawn to see a movie. She didn’t know where Willow was. Not that she wanted company. This was something she needed to do herself.

The cold draught of air on her face warned her that the door to the basement had been opened and she didn’t need the wriggle of the hairs on the back of her neck to tell her who had just walked up the stairs. “Go away, Spike. I’m busy.”

“And a very good evening to you, pet. I trust I find you well?”

Buffy sighed. ‘What is it about the words, ‘I am busy’ that you don’t understand?”

The vampire threw himself into a chair and stretched his legs out in front of him, tapping his boots together in an extremely irritating fashion. He lit a cigarette, the flame of the lighter turning his pale face golden for a second.

Buffy looked up and glared at him. He raised an eyebrow. So, the Slayer was still in a strop. She’d been like this since they’d arrived back from their time in Tudor England – irritable, impossible to please, randy as hell. Oh no, wait, she’d been just like that before their time travel adventure!

She’d said very little when they’d been whirled back into his crypt. She’d been too busy hunting for a pair of jeans she insisted he’d stolen once and secreted away as a keepsake. He’d given in, finally, and given them back to her because she seemed seriously uptight. He’d watched as she pulled them on over the dark green hose she’d worn for her visit to Greenwich Palace to save the Queen. The doublet passed as some sort of way-out jacket and she’d gone into the glowing morning without another word.

Since then she’d been back a couple of times – for sex – but she wouldn’t talk about what had happened to them.

He stared at the piles of ancient books on the table in front of her and frowned. Research had never been the Slayer’s strong point. She was more for the hunting and killing. But he had a very good idea what she was researching for… He leant over suddenly, took the book from her hands and snapped it shut.

“What the ….?”

“You don’t want to know, luv.”

Buffy looked away, her eyes nervous. “Don’t want to know what?”

“You don’t want to know what happened to Maria.”

She laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “ Hey, you could make a song of that. How Do You Solve a Problem like Maria? Give it a catchy tune, could be a hit!”

Spike ignored her. Anything to do with nuns brought back very bad memories. “You know exactly what I mean, Slayer. There’s no point looking through the books to find out when she died. That’s what you’re searching for, isn’t it?”

Buffy winced. How was it that of all the people in her life, this one, the one with no soul, understood her the best. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. But it was certainly the truth and she was brave enough to face up to the fact. “She was so young, Spike. I know I’ve been kinda detached since I got back, but when I looked at Maria…I just wanted…you said she’d be dead by Christmas. I thought there might be a record…it would tell me what had happened. How long she lived after we left.”

He put the book down, reached for her hand and watched as her fingers twined round his, warming the cold flesh. “You said once that the Watchers’ Records just stop when a Slayer dies,” he said quietly. “What good will it do to know that she survived to the New Year, or even bloody Easter, pet? She was a Slayer and you gave her a chance to be a better one. That’s all that matters.”

“She was so young,” Buffy whispered. “I should have done more…said more…we could have brought her with us, then another one would have been Chosen - perhaps an older one.”

He pulled her to her feet and wrapped his arms round her. It wasn’t often she let him hold her without the heat of passion enveloping them. For a couple of seconds she resisted, her body stiff and unyielding. Then with a sigh she relaxed and rubbed her face against the soft cotton of his T-shirt.

“There wasn’t time to think.” Spike was savouring the moment. He knew it wouldn’t last. “We had to come back to this time.”

“Did we?”

He glanced down sharply at the blonde hair so close to his mouth. “Well, I suppose we could have stayed. I could have given Will some more hints and tips. Made bloody Hamlet less of a poufter. Hey, I could have acted on stage at the Globe.”

“And what would I have done?” Her voice was dreamy and he felt the tension draining out of her.

“Oh, slain vampires, protected the Queen, sorted out soddin’ Lord Travers and the rest of the Council. Had fun.”

“Fun?” There was a query in her voice, as if the concept had long escaped her. “And all the while our bodies would just stand there in your crypt and no time would pass in this age.”

Spike nodded. 

With a sigh, Buffy pushed herself out of the safety of his arms and busied herself with tying her hair back severely from her face. “Silly dreams. I don’t get to have dreams. You know that. ”

“How about having fun, then?” There was an odd note in his voice and Buffy looked up, her eyes widening. The vampire was standing there, eyebrow raised, tossing in the air a familiar black glass ball.

 

End of main story. There is, however, an epilogue, because readers wanted to know what did happen to Maria.

Kindle Fire with Snow

Season 7

 

The school bus lurched into motion carrying them away from the crater, from death, from love, from the past. Buffy sat with her arm round Dawn’s shoulders: her sister had fallen asleep at last, lulled by the swaying motion.

Buffy stared out of the window. She could see her reflection in the glass and was coldly amazed that she looked quite well. There were no tears on her cheeks, hardly a sign of the strain she’d been under the past weeks. Slayer powers at full blast. And as for her loss – she pushed the thought so deep into her mind that she hoped it would be lost forever. Everyone she loved left her eventually. So what was new?

A touch on her arm made her jump. Faith stood there, frowning. “Hey, B. Can you check out this girl?”

Buffy eased away from Dawn who whimpered, then relaxed again. “Which girl? I can’t remember who survived.”

Faith shrugged. “I know today has been a bitch, but I didn’t think I was losing my mind. We’ve someone on board I don’t recognise.”

Buffy pushed past her and walked to the back of the bus. The survivors were asleep in their seats, but not as exhausted victims. These were all Slayers now, resting, recharging their energy, ready for action.

Right at the back a small, thin girl was sitting, facing the window, hands and forehead pressed against the glass as if she couldn’t see enough. She was staring at the flow of emergency traffic racing past in the other direction, back towards Sunnydale. Overhead helicopters were clattering and she flinched as they passed.

The girl’s long brown hair was tangled and dirty. She was wearing what looked like dark brown woollen tights under baggy shorts. Her jacket was dark green, tightly waisted by a heavy belt. The stakes pushed into it were sharpened to wicked points and the dagger that accompanied them was definitely not ornamental.

Buffy recognised that dagger. She’d been aware of it being used, glittering, over and over again the heat of the battle, but just hadn’t noticed who was wielding it.

“Hi!” Buffy said, her eyes widening in fascinated shock as the youngster turned towards her. There was no mistaking that face – a little older, even thinner, rather dirty, the teeth crooked and marked, but the eyes still blazed with courage and intelligence. “It can’t be…it’s…you’re…you’re Maria!”

“God be with you, Mistress Summers. That was a fine fight, was it not?”

“OK, B. You two know each other, obviously. But how did she get on the bus?”

“Is that what this magical vehicle be called? One that travels without horses?” Maria asked, her eyes like stars. “A bus?”

“Magical vehicle – what the - ?”

“Faith, I’ll explain later. Give us a minute, OK?” She sat down next to the young Slayer, almost scared to speak. “Maria, how – what are you doing here?”

The girl had turned back to the window: now she faced Buffy once more. “I woz sent, Mistress Summers. My Watcher, Master Shakespeare, told me I was needed in the future. That great Evil was afoot in a distant land.”

Buffy stared helplessly. This girl – she could only be about thirteen – was the Slayer she and Spike had met when they were transported back to Tudor England to save Queen Elizabeth I from a vampire uprising. She could remember clearly how upset and worried she’d been when they got back to Sunnydale, wondering how long little Maria had lasted in that turbulent world, wondering why some one so young had been called in such a violent age. She felt a flare of anger. “And you had no choice? Master Shakespeare had no right to do this to you. You’re so young! You could have been killed. What is it with Watchers desperate to send their Slayers to die?”

Maria frowned, looking puzzled. “But I’m a Slayer, Mistress Summers. Just like you, what else should I do but fight evil? Another girl will have been called to take my place in England.” She sighed. “She’ll be busy, God help her. There are so many vamps in London. A plague of 'em. But Watcher said I was needed here more.”

A dreadful thought crossed Buffy’s mind. “What do you mean, another Slayer will have been called? Didn’t your Watcher give you any way to get back? A charm, a potion?”

Maria shook her head. “No, indeed. The magic to get me here was very powerful, but I was told there would be no going home.” 

She gazed out of the window again. The bus was travelling through a small town and Buffy could only guess at how weird Maria must find the scene outside. She could remember how peculiar Tudor England had seemed; the sights, the smells, the fleas! But at least she'd known a little history and, more important still, she’d had Spike with her, fighting, laughing, loving. For a second, the door she had closed so tightly in her mind, opened and she slammed it shut again. No! She would not think about him. If she didn’t, then he wouldn’t be dead. He’d just be – missing. Yes, that was what he was, missing.

“Master Spike’s dead, isn’t he,” Maria said smashing her stupidity with brutal clarity. 

Buffy’s fists clenched. “I don’t know,” she managed to say.

“I did hear one of the girls say he was dead. That he did choose death to help defeat the Evil One.”

“He might – he might – “

“You are quite right, young lady – he made his choice and he died.” Giles’ quiet voice cut into her pain. The Englishman had been listening and was quite determined that Buffy should not go on believing that Spike was still alive, that in some miraculous way he was going to reappear. She had to concentrate now on what lay ahead of her, not look back on what had always been a disastrous affair.

“Giles – this is – ” Buffy hesitated. Jeez, explaining this was harder than fighting the First! “Her name’s Maria, she’s, well, I suppose you could say she’s a gift from the past. It’s a long story. Her Watcher sent her to help us. But Giles, there’s no way to return her to her own time.”

Rupert Giles stared down at the child from a different age, vamp dust still smeared across her face. He smiled gravely. “Good Lord! Then we will have to make her welcome in ours. A job for you, Buffy. You and Dawn together, perhaps?”

Buffy tried to smile. Maria gazed up at her as Giles continued talking about starting a school for Slayers; that girls from all over the world would attend, that Maria would soon forget her past and learn to fit in. Buffy’s attention wandered: Maria was another responsibility she didn’t want, but turning her back on her was obviously not an option.

At last Giles went back to his seat, busily writing in a little notebook. Buffy sighed. At least there was one happy person onboard the bus. She jumped as a small hand crept into hers. “Your Watcher is a mortal kind gentleman, Mistress Summers. He would get on well with my Watcher, I think. They both spend many hours making notes.”

Buffy found herself smiling. So far she hadn’t allowed herself the luxury of telling Giles the name of Maria’s Watcher! 

“Master Giles has many plans for the future.”

“Yes.”

The Tudor Slayer’s gaze was shrewd and far older than her years. “You are there, written into all his schemes, but I sense you will not be.”

Buffy looked at her, startled. “I – I’m sorry, Maria. I know I’m the only person you know in this time, but teaching in a Slayer School, killing vampires, demons, monsters – starting all over again. On my own – without – no! I just can’t.” The pain of her loss swirled up from behind the walls she had built in her mind. 

“Master Spike would not want you to be so unhappy,” Maria said softly.

“Then he shouldn’t have sacrificed his stupid self!” Buffy snapped. “And he wouldn’t listen to what I wanted to say. I left it too late. He didn’t believe me when – oh, what’s the point. You wouldn’t understand.”

She fell silent and Maria slowly got up and returned to her own seat. This was a strange, frightening world she had helped to save. She was sad that Master Spike had died and could only guess how Mistress Summers was feeling. As young as she was, she had seen and realised the depth of their feelings for each other when they had arrived in Tudor England.

“Well, we must introduce you to the other Slayers,” Giles sat down next to her. 

Maria nodded, then said hesitantly, “Mistress Summers is fair distressed over Master Spike. She loved him so much, I vow.”

A hardness settled on Giles’ face. “Love? No, I don’t think so, my dear. A fascination, a compulsion to rebel, even an affection for a fellow warrior, but love for a vampire, no, I don’t think so. She will recover, probably sooner than she thinks. But don’t you bother about all that. It’s past and gone. ”

Maria looked at him shrewdly. How could he not see the pain his Slayer was feeling? “Sir, I am a stranger in your world and all is weird and miraculous to my eyes. But although I am young, I do recognise love.” The expression on the man’s face didn’t alter. Obviously he would not accept her opinion as important, but perhaps he would listen to her Watcher.

“My Watcher writes many fine words, Sir. I don’t fully understand all of them, but he said in a play about two fine Italian lords, ‘Thou wouldst as soon go kindle fire with snow as seek to quench the fire of love with words.’

And Maria was never to know that it was not the words themselves that caused the fine gentleman’s eyes to widen in shock, but the realisation of the identity of her Watcher!

ends


End file.
